


Help

by scribblemoose



Series: Wild [4]
Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-19
Updated: 2005-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:19:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemoose/pseuds/scribblemoose





	Help

" Ken, you need help. This isn't an option."

Yohji lay on his back and blew smoke into the air, listening to Aya's firm barritone and hoping his hardest that he might do some good.

He wasn't confident, though. It had gone on too long, run too deep. It had torn Omi and Ken apart to the point that the chibi could barely stay in the same room as his one-time lover. Anything Yohji cared to say ended in a brawl, and not just the rough and tumble that was a regular part of life in the Koneko. It didn't take much to get Ken's claws out these days.

Manx had tried. Birman had tried. There was only Aya left. And Ken's silence spoke volumes. Shielded from the scene by a flimsy folding door, Yohji could imagine it all too well. Aya's earnest anger. Ken's stony, rebellious silence.

Shit. It shouldn't have come to this. They shouldn't have let it. But he and Aya had been caught up in other things, and now...

"Ken, if you don't do something, Kritiker will. You know what that means."

"Have you finished, Fujimaya-sensei? Because I have deliveries to run."

Yohji winced.

There was a scrape of chair legs on the hollow metal floor. "It's your choice." Aya's voice was flat and cold. "But remember this. If you do anything to hurt the rest of the team I won't forgive you. And if you're stupid enough to cross Kritiker, I won't be able to save you."

"What makes you think I need saving?"

Yohji close his eyes, fist on his forehead. _The killing, the blackouts, the blood lust, the nightmares, the way Omi cries himself to sleep every night... fuck, Ken, what is there about you that doesn't need saving? Even in the twisted world we live in, surely you can see..._

But Aya simply said: "You forget, Hidaka. A man can't live as we've lived, see what we've seen and not know. Kill yourself if you like, but don't think you can ever lie to me."

A crash of furniture, a hissed curse and a slammed door. Yohji pulled back the screen-door to see Aya standing there, hands balled to fists at his sides, chair and table upturned, ashtray still spinning on the floor.

"So," said Yohji. "That went well."

*******

Ken kicked the bike into third and opened the throttle with a yank of the wrist, eyes shut for the scant seconds it took for the machine to accelerate to the point of adrenaline rush. The engine howled and he flung himself into the first bend, knee all but scraping tarmac.

The speed fed his rage and soothed it to a calm, powerful anger he could channel into something more meaningful than stupid fights with Aya.

He began to breathe.

_~That's it, Siberian. You know, don't you? That there's another way.~_

_~Schuldig.~_

_~He's waiting for you, liebchen. At the head of the pass. Go to him.~_

_~Why should I? You don't frighten me.~_

Schuldig's laugh echoed around Ken's mind, then faded to nothing. A darted look over his shoulder told Ken that the telepath had slowed his flashy little sports car to a fraction of the motorbike's speed, breaking the link between their minds and leaving him alone.

The road bent suddenly to the left, a downhill gradient adding to Ken's speed. He could see a white car ahead, gleaming in the light of the sun that was setting behind the mountains.

Crawford.

This was getting to be a habit.

But Ken already knew he would stop and get in that white car without a second thought. This was why he'd come here all along. Not to escape Aya's lecture and Yohji's hypocritical concern and Omi's tears. Not to run from the truth. Not to forget about his blood lust.

He'd come here to feed it.

*******

"This is where you'll be trained." Crawford ushered Ken into a small, windowless room. There was a single table with two chairs, a screen and projector. He covered an involuntary shudder with a cough and a shrug, and strode into the room.

"By which I mean mental training, of course." Crawford twitched a chair straight, smoothing his fingers along the polished wood back as if he were appreciating the shine. "We have a fully equipped gym down in the basement."

"You seem pretty sure I'll join up."

Crawford smiled. "I'm certain." He tapped his forehead. "It's a gift of mine, if you recall?"

"You can't see everything." Ken crossed to the suspiciously large mirror that covered the wall opposite the door.

"But what I do see, I see very clearly, Siberian. And I see a very interesting future indeed for you."

Ken squashed his nose up against the glass, his breath misting the surface. There was a flicker of something through the mirror; a grey shape trapped in the reflection that he knew wasn't in the room behind him. Made sense, he supposed. Two way mirror. There were probably hidden cameras too.

"It's not definite though, right? The future you see isn't the only one. Like, things could change and your vision would change."

Crawford smiled an amused little smile. "I can assure you, the things I see most definitely come to pass. I'm afraid you've been reading too much science fiction."

"But... if that's true, why can't you beat us? Or choose not to fight us? If you know what's going to happen-"

"Not every vision is complete, it's true. And sometimes it doesn't matter. Knowing how things end doesn't always take the fun out of it."

"It would for me." Ken sat on the table and plonked his booted feet on a chair, deliberately shoving it untidily and squeakily askew. A look of irritation passed across Crawford's face.

"Then I won't let you in on the secret. I wouldn't want to spoil any surprises for you."

"Good, because you might just find me more unpredictable than you think."

"No," said Crawford, and his voice was chillingly matter-of-fact and calm. "I know all about you. You should remember that. It's important."

"Knowing my future isn't the same as knowing me. I can assure you I'm full of surprises."

"Oh yes." Suddenly Crawford seemed very close, and Ken felt acutely alone. He could feel the heat radiating from the man's body, the warm puffs of breath on his skin. Crawford smelt of mints and expensive after-shave and starched cotton shirts.

"I'm not afraid," said Ken.

"Oh," and long fingers slid into Ken's hair, cupped the back of his head, "but you are."

Ken let out a muffled protest as Crawford's mouth pressed against his, flung a hand behind him to support his weight as Crawford shoved him back. His mind whorled confusion; he should be fighting, struggling, yelling, killing, but all he felt was passion. His cock stretched to full length, uncomfortably constrained in his leathers, trapped blood pulsing and aching.

"You see?" Crawfords lips whispered across Ken's. "I know what you want long before you know it. That's why I know I can help you."

"Help me? I don't need your-"

Crawford silenced him with another kiss, one hand coming around swiftly to press into his groin, finding the stiff flesh there and squeezing. Ken groaned, half protest, half pleasure, and opened his mouth wide enough to admit Crawford's tongue.

He hadn't known he'd wanted this. But he did.

"I can make it better," Crawford breathed, voice dark honey in Ken's ear. "I can stop the doubt and fear and help you be who you really are."

"But.." Ken's breath was coming fast now, blood roaring in his ears. He thrust his groin up to rub his cock against Crawford's hand.

"I know what you want. I know what you're capable of. They don't. Weiß. They haven't got a clue about you, they just think you're a nutjob."

"I-"

"But we know better, don't we, Ken?" One hand still on Ken's head, Crawford rasped down his zipper with the other. Ken stared as the buttons were popped open and Crawford's cock emerged, hard and glistening wet at the tip.

Ken looked up at Crawford with wide eyes; the light from the single overhead lamp caught Crawford's glasses with a sudden glint.

"On your knees," said Crawford, shoving down on Ken's head. "There's a good boy."

Ken could have pushed him away. Yelled outrage and kicked him out of the way. Sunk steel through immaculate white linen and thin, taut skin and slashed through to guts and gore.

But he didn't. He sank to the ground and took Crawford's thick cock in his mouth and he knelt there on cold white tile and focused his eyes on pale skin and clenched his fingers around steel-hard thighs and slurped and swallowed and cock-sucked until his lips were numb and Crawford filled his mouth with warm, bitter semen and he swallowed it down and didn't choke and worse than that he liked it.

He liked it.

Fingers stroked his hair by way of reward, softening flesh nuzzled his cheek, and Ken licked his lips and looked up at Crawford through wet, blinking eyes.

"Oh yes," said Crawford, a smile spreading slowly across his face. "I'd say your future's very bright indeed."

*******

Yohji kissed his way down Aya's chest, pausing to swirl his tongue around one stiff nipple. Aya arched into the touch, body shifting and writhing like a cat in the sun, smile lighting his face, crimson hair falling back to stripe the pillow. Yohji shifted his hand to the small of Aya's back, lifted him a little so he could really feel the stretch, and trailed fingers across tight abs, making Aya shudder at the tickle.

He smelt cleanly-laundered hotel sheets, basked in the warmth and privacy of a proper building with doors and locks and walls.

Nothing in the world was as beautiful as Aya when he surrendered himself like this. Yohji leaned over to kiss him, soft and long and sweet like whiskey, Aya's tongue flicking at his, Aya's arms winding around his neck. He couldn't wait any longer. He pressed his erection into Aya's hip, shifted a knee between Aya's thighs, coaxed his legs apart. He was slick and ready from before, when Yohji had licked and sucked his cock and fingerfucked him as they lay in the decadant luxury of matress and linen and pillows and talked.

"Yohji..." His lips were swollen from kissing, his cheeks stained rosy pink, his eyes unfocussed, eyelashes fluttering. "Yohji, please."

There was slow blues on the hi-fi, Aya's hips undulating in time. With a soft moan Yohji slid into Aya's body, savouring every glorious second.

No talking now. No thinking. Just heat and slip and slide and Aya so slick and tight around him, Aya's body rocking in slow motion to meet the slow, deep action of his hips. He brushed a strand of hair from Aya's mouth, flicked the tip of Aya's tongue as it darted out to lick his lips, snagged it with his teeth and gently bit. Aya moaned and arched and smiled, and Yohji fucked him slowly, gently, slowly, deeper, deeper, slowly, slowly, made it last forever.

He wanted to come from the start and held it off for longer than he'd dared to hope. Bit his lip and let the warm, tight bliss wash over him, rocked until their bodies were sheened with sweat even though they were barely moving now, let the sound of Aya panting fill his head, the feel of Aya's body consume him, overwhelm him, the cock in his hand twitching life through his fingers and making his mind explode in a million colours, his balls clenched tight and pumping, pumping, pumping, filling Aya with everything, all he had, all he was, everything...

"Oh God," Yohji whimpered, stroking sweat-damp hair back from Aya's face, kissing his neck, his jaw. "Oh God, fuck, Aya, that was..."

"Mmmm." Aya stretched and tugged Yohji into his side, hugged him. Kissed his forehead. He was smiling.

"It just gets better and better," Yohji said. His voice sounded raw and husky, like he'd been screaming. Perhaps he had.

"Practice," said Aya. He yawned and stretched again. "Good."

"Give me a minute," Yohji murmured sleepily, "and I'll take you though a few more exercises."

Aya gave a snort of laughter, and another kiss fell in Yohji's hair.

He was almost asleep when Aya's phone rang.

He cursed and hated whatever it was that took Aya's warm body from his for the precious minutes it took for Aya to take the call. When Aya came back he grabbed him possessively around the middle, dragged him back onto the luxurious bounce of the bed and nuzzled his hair.

"Fuck off," Yohji mumbled. "They can fuck off."

"Omi," said Aya, his voice almost but not quite Weiß again. "Ken came home. Seems better, Omi said. He thinks he's got it under control."

"Good," said Yohji. "Mmm. You want room service? We could get champagne. It is your birthday, after all."

"It's not that simple," said Aya.

"Yes it is. See, we ring the main desk, and tell them what we want, and then they get a nice someone to bring us something fizzy in an icebucket which you can lick off my naked skin. What could be simpler?"

"People don't get better like that. Not without help."

"Maybe he's found help? You know what Ken's like, maybe he went to Manx and fixed himself up with a shrink, too embarrassed to tell us about it."

"I suppose." Aya looked doubtful. "Except they'd take him off missions. They wouldn't let him carry on like normal. He'll beserk again, Yohji. And next time, it might not be justice. It might be innocent people. It might be so bad that Kritiker can't cover it up and..."

"You don't know that. For all we know, Ken really might have got it straight this time. Why not give him the benefit of the doubt? We can't see the future."

Some of the doubt slipped from Aya's expression; he didn't look exactly hopeful but the worry had faded enough that the pleasure showed through when Yohji stroked his belly.

"Champagne," said Aya, sinking back into Yohji's arms. "Please.

 


End file.
